


Day 17: Christmas Pranks

by Venusdoom3



Series: 25 Days of Stucky Christmas Challenge [17]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 25 days of Christmas challenge, Bucky is Annoying, M/M, Must Be the Elves, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pranks and Practical Jokes, Steve is annoyed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 11:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8888323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venusdoom3/pseuds/Venusdoom3
Summary: "You better watch your ass, Barnes!" Steve calls on his way into the bathroom."I'd rather watch yours," comes Bucky's reply. "You'll be lucky if I let you within a mile of my ass after this!"





	

**Author's Note:**

> Explicit might be a stretch, but the little bit of smut there is seemed a tad more than Mature to me. But what do I know?
> 
> Also, I must say, this was wayyyyyy too much fun to write.

Steve awakens on Saturday morning with sappy warmth in the pit of his stomach. It's exactly eight days till Christmas, he's finished his shopping, and, most importantly, he's spending his first Christmas with Bucky in over seventy years.

The sappy feeling dampens when he swings his bare legs over the edge of the bed and plants his feet in something moist and squishy.

Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, Steve looks down, frowning, to find his feet buried in... fruitcake? The sticky brown substance dotted with festive red and green chunks of unidentifiable origin is oozing up between his toes, and a large clump sticks to the sole of his foot when he lifts it for a better look. There must be half a dozen fruitcakes lined up on the floor on his side of the bed, and he wonders, still a bit fuzzy, if Bucky has the same problem.

Bucky, however, is no longer in bed – which in and of itself is fairly incredible, since Bucky very rarely rises before Steve does – and realization dawns on Steve as he turns his attention from Bucky's empty pillow to the baked goods caking his feet. His sweet, darling Bucky is not a victim; he's the culprit.

" _Bucky_!"

 Cackling from somewhere outside the bedroom steels Steve's resolve, and he reaches for last night's t-shirt – tossed aside in a fit of lust, as most of their clothes are at one point or another – to wipe the fruitcake off his feet.

"You better watch your ass, Barnes!" Steve calls on his way into the bathroom.

"I'd rather watch yours," comes Bucky's reply.

"You'll be lucky if I let you within a mile of my ass after this!"

Steve gets into the shower to wash any remaining stickiness off his feet – as well as various other dried substances off other parts – and is scrubbing the conditioner from his hair when a faint noise from behind him signals another presence in the bathroom. Turning in the hopes that Bucky has repented and is joining him, Steve's eyes widen at the sight of a cascade of white powder spilling from a bag held over the glass shower door. "What the hell is that?" Steve squawks, stepping backward until his back hits the cool tile wall, watching Bucky back away from the shower, crossing his arms and grinning.

"Look down," Bucky says loudly enough to be heard over the water.

Eyes wide, Steve obeys, his mouth falling open at the sight of what appears to be a snowdrift growing out of the shower floor. As the water hits whatever Bucky spilled into the stall, the powder seems to absorb the moisture and grow exponentially, and Steve kicks hesitantly at the resultant fluff. It puffs up like dry snow even as the drift continues growing, and Steve huffs in disbelief.

"What _is_ it?" he yells.

Shaking his head in amusement, Bucky holds the bag up to the steam-fogged glass so Steve can read the printing on the plastic: _Instant Snow_.

"Have fun shoveling your way out of the shower, babe!" Bucky waves and bolts from the bathroom, leaving Steve to his good-natured fuming and his snow-filled shower stall.

When Steve emerges from the bathroom in faded blue jeans and a soft, burgundy cable-knit sweater, he looks in every direction, mentally strategizing to avoid being blindsided again. Bucky is nowhere to be seen, so Steve creeps down the stairs with only socks on his feet, staying alert as if his life depends on it.

He makes it to the kitchen, where nothing appears amiss, so he lets his guard down a tiny bit, starting a pot of coffee brewing as he pulls two mugs from the cabinet out of habit. "I should let you make your own goddamn coffee," he mumbles, nonetheless spooning a little sugar from the bowl on the counter into his mug and a great deal more into Bucky's, just the way he likes it. As the coffee begins to drip into the carafe, Steve heads to the fridge for the creamer, pausing with his hand on the door handle.

"Oh, _that's_ adorable." He shakes his head, chuckling despite himself at the crudely Photoshopped picture hanging by a magnet shaped like a snowman; he's loathe to imagine from what dark corner of the internet Bucky found the base picture, which appears to be a screenshot from a Christmas-themed porn movie. In it, a naked, well-muscled, decidedly oiled man in a Santa hat – with Bucky's face inserted where the actor's used to be – grips another man by the hips, evidently plowing him into next week. The other man is roughly outfitted as a reindeer, naked except for gloves and boots made to look like rudimentary hooves and a set of antlers on his head, and Steve's face has been appended to the photo in place of his.

"Documenting our sex life in Photoshopped porn," Steve mutters, his mouth twisted into a reluctant smile as he opens the fridge and reaches for the creamer, torn between the frosted sugar cookie flavor and the peppermint mocha, only to find that every last item in the refrigerator, from the butter dish to the leftover spaghetti all the way down to _each individual egg_ has been lovingly wrapped in matching Christmas paper, a tasteful red and white candy cane-inspired pattern. "You know what? Forget it – I'll use powdered creamer today."

Steve turns to the cabinet above the coffee machine and yanks it open. " _Ho ho ho_!" booms a voice from inside the cupboard, and Steve shouts and jumps back, clapping a hand to his chest and groaning when he realizes the voice is coming from a motion-activated Santa figure tucked between two cereal boxes. "Goddammit, James Buchanan!" he bellows. "You want to give me a heart attack for Christmas?"

He gets no answer, so, mildly annoyed, he tears open the items on the top shelf of the fridge before he finds a bottle of creamer, pours himself a cup of coffee – petulantly leaving Bucky's mug empty but for the sugar – grabs a banana from the fruit bowl, and sulks his way into the living room to read on his tablet.

Halfway through his banana and near the end of the fourth chapter of _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest_ , something finally clicks in Steve's head, and he lifts his eyes to confirm what struck his subconscious as odd: their beautifully decorated Christmas tree has been painstakingly swathed in plastic wrap from top to bottom.

Steve growls under his breath, setting his tablet aside and sipping his lukewarm coffee as his eyes crawl over the room, seeking further Bucky-fueled abnormalities. The lights and garlands appear undisturbed, and the various figurines and knick-knacks don’t appear to be—

 _Wait a minute_.

Heaving a weary sigh, Steve closed his eyes for a moment. His favorite set of figures – three hand-carved reindeer – have indeed been rearranged to make it appear they're in the middle of humping each other. "Very nice, Buck," he sighs, cutting off when his eyes come to rest on their ever-growing gallery wall, on which hang photos in varying sizes and deliberately non-matching frames. The photos portray Steve and Bucky, their various friends, and even antique photos of their families, thanks to the Smithsonian. What caught Steve's attention, however, are the faces of the people in the photos, or, more accurately, the googly-eye stickers that have been placed over the subjects' actual eyes.

Steve is just about to open his mouth and yell out his surrender when from upstairs comes the sound of music; it's being played at a volume loud enough for Steve to hear every word of one of the very few Christmas songs he can't stand, _Last Christmas_ by some "classic" English band called _Wham!_

Of all the cultural detritus he's caught up on since 1945, the most inexplicable and least tolerable is 1980s pop music.

 _Last Christmas I gave you my heart_  
But the very next day, you gave it away  
This year, to save me from tears  
I'll give it to someone special

"Ugh." Steve makes a face, but, vowing to himself that he will ignore Bucky's monkey business, he grabs his empty mug and treks to the kitchen for a refill. When he returns to the couch and picks up his tablet, the song is just fading out – _thank the lord for small favors_ – and Steve closes his eyes in gratitude. They fly open again in annoyance when the song starts over.

"No." He shakes his head with a stubborn scowl. "Not letting him get to me. Nope."

He switches on his tablet and sets his mind to reading, which is nowhere near as easy as it should be, even less so when the volume goes up on the music floating down the stairs. Still, Steve is dogged if nothing else, and he manages to read a sentence and a half during the song's second run-through. When it starts over _again_ , Steve gives up, setting his tablet on the coffee table with exaggerated care to avoid crushing it between his hands or smashing it to shards on a nearby hard surface.

Stalking up the stairs, Steve raises an eyebrow at the closed bedroom door for two reasons: one, because he left the door open when he came down for breakfast, and two, because the music must be _really_ loud in there if it's as loud as it seems downstairs.

Steve pushes open the door, steeling himself for Bucky to jump out and scare him, but the room is empty, and the only disturbance he encounters is the music blowing his hair back. He stomps around the bed and pulls the plug on their Bluetooth tower speaker, sighing in relief as the noise fades to silence in an instant. The device playing the song must be within Bluetooth range of the speaker, which means Bucky's phone is nearby, which in turn means Bucky himself is nearby. Since he's not in the room, Steve has to move fast to find him.

Spinning to trot from the room, Steve stops short with another yelp of surprise at the human figure – decidedly _not Bucky_ – standing in the doorway. Even though it takes him less than two seconds to determine that the intruder is a cardboard cutout of Charlie Chaplin, it takes him longer than that to stop huffing like an angry buffalo, and before he can decide whether or not he wants to charge at the cardboard cutout and tear it in two before throwing it over the banister, Bucky appears behind The Tramp and moves the old fella aside, looking sheepish.

"I was just playing," he says, and Steve's eyes narrow.

Steve hopes his voice conveys the appropriate gravitas. "The first two hours of my Saturday morning have been hell."

"It was all Nat's idea!"

Steve gives him a look.

"But it was my fault," Bucky admits, ducking his head and looking at Steve through his eyelashes the way he does when he wants his way.

_Ha._

"Damn right it was." Steve stands unmoved, back straight as a board, arms folded over his chest.

"Aw, honey," Bucky wheedles, shuffling into the bedroom in his rainbow-striped socks, pausing before Steve. He reaches out to touch Steve but draws back, unsure. "I didn't mean to upset you, babydoll. You know I'd never make you mad on purpose."

"Hmm." It comes out as noncommittal as humanly possible. Good.

Bucky seems at a loss, frowning and looking off to the side for a long moment. "Would it make a difference if I told you I'm sorry? 'Cause I'm really, _really_ sorry."

Steve shrugs, ready to drag this out until he's damn well satisfied, but that plan goes out the window when he sees the quiver in Bucky's lower lip. "Oh, all right," Steve sighs, uncrossing his arms, and Bucky throws himself into them, wrapping his own around Steve's ribcage so tight the bones nearly creak. After a long few seconds of making Bucky sweat it out, Steve embraces him back. Before Bucky's sound of relief is even fully exhaled, Steve topples over backwards and takes Bucky with him, the two of them crashing onto the bed in a heap, Bucky exclaiming in shock.

"What the _hell_ , Steve?" Bucky cries from his unexpected position half on top of Steve, swatting Steve's chest.

"You better make it up to me," Steve says. Bucky's eyes flash, and that's how, within thirty minutes, Steve has shot off in Bucky's mouth once, been thoroughly rimmed until he's hoarse from moaning so loudly, and been brought back to full erection by Bucky's talented tongue once more.

"So," Bucky pants, hiking Steve's legs onto his shoulders and driving deep into Steve's tight heat with a series of jackhammer thrusts. " _Ungh_ , baby… am I doing okay making it up to you, or are you still mad?"

"I wasn't mad in the first place," Steve confesses with a strained smile, knuckling a bead of sweat away from his eye and then clutching Bucky's biceps when Bucky increases the pressure by grinding his hips in slow circles. "Oh, _fuck yeah_ , just like that! Ahh… _ahh_ … I was annoyed, but never mad. Mmm. And mostly ticked off that you attacked before you even declared war!"

Bucky snickers, flushed and breathless. "Well, how else could I ensure victory?"

"Just wait," Steve says, narrowing his eyes. "Remember, Pearl Harbor came first, but Nagasaki finished it."

Fittingly, an explosive finish to this battle is not far off for either of them.

**

**Author's Note:**

> Instant Snow is an actual [thing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HiEewwjZi6o)!
> 
> For the record, I actually like the [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E8gmARGvPlI) referenced. Wham! rules. ;)
> 
> Comments and kudos are most appreciated, and I'm on [tumblr](http://venusdoom3.tumblr.com)!


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